


You Had One Job!

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Universe Without All The Ghastly People Like Mary And Eurus And Irene, Fantasy elements, Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M, Matchmaking, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25892404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: The darts of love had been supposed to match the Holmes brothers with two other men. But Angel Gayiel disobeys Cupido's orders and matches up the right ones.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 32
Kudos: 95





	You Had One Job!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts).



> I hope to write more for this story. But what I have written so far can work as a complete story as well so have this chapter for now.

### In Heaven

“I can’t believe you did that!”

“Sorry, Cupido.”

“No, you’re not even sorry! You’re lazy! And you don’t care about doing things properly. It’s a disgrace!”

“Ah, it’s not so bad. In fact, I think…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Gayiel! You had a clear order! Match Sherlock Holmes with Doctor John Watson and his brother Mycroft with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. It was written down for you as usual! And they were all together in one flat!”

“Yes, but I only had two darts.”

“And why, pray tell, did you only have two and not four?!”

“Because I forget that it’s a double job. Shoot me!”

“I would really love to, you know?! Even if you only had two darts, you could have still matched up two of the right people!”

“I did, actually.”

“Sorry?!”

“I did match the right ones.”

“They are brothers!!!”

“Yes, but they fit. And neither of them fits with the other guy you’d chosen. It was your mistake, not mine.”

“…!”

“Sorry, but it’s still true. They’ll be happy with each other, you’ll see. And it’s not as if we could do anything about it anymore. Done is done.”

“I wish I could fire you!”

“Alas, you can’t, because you hate legwork and nobody else wants to do it. So what's my next job?”

“Just go away!”

“Fine. You know which cloud to find me on when you’ve calmed down.”

“Out!”

“Pfff.”

“I heard that!”

“Don’t care.”

“…!”

### What happened in Baker Street two hours earlier

#### Gayiel

I know people. Cupido never gives me enough credit for that. Fine, he’s the God of Love and I’m just Gayiel, a sixteenth degree angel, but still! I take my time and watch the candidates that I’m supposed to shoot my darts into. And yes, usually Cupido is right and then I do it and everybody lives happily ever after. But Cupido is too busy with finding out all the matches in the entire world to pay attention to some details.

Let me clarify: technically, there is only one God. But can you imagine how much one entity that has to save everybody’s ar-, sorry, I meant has to watch everybody on earth to prevent even more disaster than you people are producing on a regular basis has to do? And of course God is not the man with the white beard that you are thinking of. He is… well, indescribable. I won’t even try. But let’s say he’s split up into a God of War (as you people insist on causing them!), a God of Love (who is my boss, and yes, I just was quite cheeky to him but the thing is, in case you had wondered, that he can’t kick me out of heaven. Once you’re in, and especially as an angel, there is no way out again. Probably this rule was made after all this hassle with the Archangels but that’s just me guessing) and for a few dozen other things that are not important right now.

So yes – Cupido, overworked and as always in a hurry, told me to set up the famous consulting detective Sherlock Holmes with his equally famous blogger and partner Doctor John Watson as well as Mycroft Holmes, who hardly anybody knows anything about, with Sherlock's provider of juicy cases, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. I was told that the best opportunity would be today, in Sherlock's and John’s flat, as Cupido arranged for both Sherlock's brother and the policeman to be around at the same time, because usually Mycroft and Gregory are never together. Which rang the first bell in my head. Why are they a good match when they never even meet? Cupido showed me some footage (not of a camera but his memory – don’t bother with even trying to understand it!). It was from a hospital. Sherlock was lying on the bed, his smooth chest partly uncovered, all pale and stitched up but gorgeous, I have to say. I’m an angel and I don’t harbour any romantic feelings but I’m not blind. Anyway. On both sides next to his bed I saw his brother (a bloody good-looking fellow with endless legs and pretty blue eyes and… Yeah, well, I’m just observant) and the grey-haired inspector (who has really nice brown eyes and a pretty face but his lips are non-existent and his teeth scare me) standing. Both united in their worry for the pretty boy on the bed. And yes – Greg, as he calls himself, shot some side glances at the man Sherlock mockingly (or admiringly?!) calls ‘The British Government’. But Mycroft only had eyes for his suffering brother. Fine, you will say, Sherlock was hurt and it’s a natural thing to worry about your younger siblings, I give you that. But as evidence that Mycroft and Greg are meant for each other, it all was a bit… poor? Far-fetched? Made no sense?

It’s different with Sherlock and John, yes; I can definitely say that after all the ‘clips’ I saw from them. They know each other very well. John admires the ground Sherlock is walking on. And Cupido said that you can’t take his constant ‘I’m not gay’ seriously as he does chase birds all the time but he still has the hots for Sherlock as he is probably Sherlocksexual. Well, Cupido used other words of course; he is very sophisticated and all, but that’s the point he was trying to make. ‘What about Sherlock?’ I asked him. ‘Sherlock doesn’t look as if he’s in love with John.’ Cupido looked at me as if I had lost my mind. ‘But that’s what your darts are there for! To make them fall in love!’

I mean, I’m not an idiot; I do know that. And yes, they already live together and love their mutual adventures and John saved his life and so on, and so forth. But… it didn’t feel right. Not when I watched all four of them together for real.

Sherlock, the pale beauty, so aloof and untouchable and above all naughty little desires, holding his violin. A man who gets bored so easily but can spend hours bent over a microscope or playing Bach.

John, the stocky, salt-of-the-earth boy with the hot temper, who loves sports and misses the war, always ready for an adventure, vibrating with energy at all times.

Greg, your everyday copper, decent and loyal to the bone, whose idea of an ideal evening is to sit in front of the telly with a bottle of beer or have said beer in a pub with his favourite colleague Inspector Dimmock.

And Mycroft, the tall looker in the fancy suit, so aloof and untouchable, his elegant fingers wrapped around an umbrella on the sunniest day of the year. A man who loves some peace and quiet when he can get it, preferably with a glass of the finest whiskey in reach, a man who can spend hours scheming and plotting.

Are you getting it? They don’t fit – the pairs Cupido had chosen! Fine, Sherlock and John are friends, which is unlikely enough as Sherlock doesn’t have friends. John is very tolerant towards Sherlock's shenanigans. He can’t even dream of understanding Sherlock's deductions and thoughts and he doesn’t even try, but he is very useful at crime scenes as he is a doctor and he runs into every danger to get Sherlock out. And from his looks, I can see that he does consider Sherlock as a lover but would never act on this without some hefty encouragement. But… Sherlock doesn’t want him.

At first, I thought the handsome detective just doesn’t want _anybody_ and shouldn’t be bothered with godly meddling. There is nothing wrong with not longing for a partner and I wouldn’t have shot him under these circumstances. But then… I saw something odd. There was some sort of weird dance going on. Not between him and John but between him and – his brother.

Mycroft was idly swirling his umbrella, looking all cool and sophisticated – but I could sense he was nervous from the moment I saw him. And certainly not because of the detective inspector. Oh, Greg seemed to be happy to meet him again, though.

“Mycroft, how nice.”

The politician or whatever you want to call him turned his nicely shaped lips into something that resembled a smile. He clearly isn’t used to doing that… “Gregory. I do hope I’m not interrupting you working with my brother and his dear friend John.”

 _Dear friend_ , my arse… Nobody could have missed that he can’t stand Doctor Watson… But that’s Mycroft Holmes for you. Always polite and slick and Teflon, you know what I mean?

Greg smiled at him and it looked genuine. “No, I was just close by and thought I’d drop by to tell Sherlock that we got the killer he’d pointed us at.”

Sherlock looked very smug. “I told you it could only be him. What do you want, Mycroft?”

Mycroft gave him a rather hurt glance. “I wanted to talk about Mummy’s birthday.”

In fact, he looked as if he wasn’t quite sure why he was here. Which is not that surprising as he had been encouraged to visit his brother by godly intervention. Most people would never question their motives and think it had been their idea to do it. But this man is special. He didn’t know that the God of Love had whispered in his ear, so to speak, to head over to his brother, and _pronto_ , but he was sensing that something was weird about it. As smart as he is handsome, this man… And no, I don’t have crush on him, but true is true!

Sherlock rolled his eyes. His beautiful, fascinating eyes, their colour changing between blue and green all the time – they’re just _gorgeous_. See above! “That’s even worse than a boring case for the Queen.” He huffed and sighed and wiggled on his chair, and I realised that his eyes had briefly (too briefly for any human to spot it) darted to his brother’s crotch – and damn, this man was wearing tight trousers that didn't do a good job of hiding what he had. Which is _a lot_.

Maybe I should mention that I’m invisible to humans but probably you’d figured that out already. But as I said – I’m not _blind_ …

So Sherlock was interested in his brother’s, well, let’s say trouser snake. Probably it was an unconscious movement of his eyes; I’m pretty sure he doesn’t wank to what his brother has to offer. But it is not exactly a common thing to stare at your brother’s crotch, no matter how tight the trousers are, is it?

And Mycroft? He was devouring Sherlock with his eyes one moment (in a way nobody but I could see) and pursing his lips in outrage the next one. He walked around him as if he was both drawn to and pushed away by his sheer presence.

Was he aware of the feelings I noticed within minutes? I reckon he had become aware of them a long time ago – and had immediately locked them away in the deepest corner of his heart. Not even the smartest man can force love to go away. It stays, and it nags on you, poisons your soul and makes your life miserable. You might think I’m exaggerating or sound like a drama queen, but believe me, I’m an angel and I know such things. Love cannot be killed, no matter how hard you try.

They went on bickering, and Greg was looking from one brother to the other one, fascinated by the show, while John Watson was busy with rolling his eyes. He was clearly used to this sort of ‘conversation’.

“I hate these family gatherings,” Sherlock said darkly, and his brother nodded.

“I do see your point.” Mycroft grimaced at the prospect of having to spend time with distant relatives at a birthday party. Probably he would have rather pulled out some of his toenails instead, perhaps even with his teeth, but as it’s for their mother and he’s a good son – and brother…

And then I shot my darts at them, first at Sherlock, then at Mycroft. Bam! Right in the heart! Probably both of them would have denied even possessing one, but I can assure you they do, and I hit them perfectly. I didn't even think too much before doing it, but really – what was there to doubt? Mycroft already loved his brother and he would never be happy with the policeman. I can force people to fall in love with one another but it doesn’t have to last, let alone make them happy. They have to make the best out of their feelings, and I could tell for sure that it would never work out. They had nothing in common but their worry about Sherlock, and perhaps I’m a hopeless romantic but I do think that is not nearly enough. And Sherlock and John? I have to confess: I didn't like the doctor very much. He seemed rather arrogant and aggressive, and Sherlock, no matter how snarky and smug he pretends to be, is a softie at heart, exactly like his brother, sensitive and fragile beneath that mask of hauteur and superiority. And fu-, I mean, damn, no, I mean… Ah forget it. I’m not your run-of-the-mill angel as you might have figured out already. I don’t play the harp and I don’t sing in the heavenly choir, and Cupido tells me off all day for my choice of words and behaviour. And right – I don't give a fuck!

Anyway! What I was about to say is that the brothers are basically the same person, just with some age difference and two sexy (shoot me!) bodies. They have nothing but contempt for the general population, and even if Sherlock makes an exception for John and even his landlady, he will never be happy with someone who doesn’t understand even the basics of Crouzeix's conjecture or thinks Evangelista Torricelli is a porn actress, not a physicist (okay, I’m exaggerating but you are getting the point I hope). Even though one of them lives behind a desk and whispers into the ears of the allegedly mighty and the other one runs down the streets of London catching killers – they share the same unique intellect and the same social awkwardness even though the older brother has learned to blend in a lot better and the younger one has managed to make some very tolerant friends. They are, bottom line, made for each other. And so I shot them and now it’s up to them to follow the feelings that had probably been there in both of them but would have never come to the surface without my intervention since one of them suppressed them and the other one had never gotten that he even had them.

Well, now they have the privilege of dealing with them!

#### Sherlock

“If you see my point, why the hell do you think…” Sherlock broke off when something happened. He couldn’t have described it for the life of him. It was as if he’d been hit by a nail or something, but there was nothing like that happening. He was simply sitting in his chair. He had even put his violin away. But there was this strange feeling in his chest and then something bright flashed in his eyes _and oh God Mycroft is so handsome I want to kiss him and make love to him._ What??!!! And Mycroft looked down on him and his exasperated face turned into a smile that looked completely genuine (!) and then he was blinking heftily and his umbrella dropped to the floor.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sherlock heard Lestrade ask but even if he had deemed him worthy of an answer, he was speechless from shock and wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. _‘Oh, it’s fine, I just realised I’m in love with my brother and could you and John please leave us alone so we can fuck?’_ came to mind but even in his shaken, disturbed state he was aware that this would have been a bit not good.

But God… Mycroft looked even worse than he did. His hairs seemed to stand up! All of them! He looked as if he had suffered from electrocution! So whatever had just happened to him, Sherlock, had also happened to Mycroft. Big Bro looked shit scared and desperate – but not really surprised. As if he had been feeling like this for a long time but had not allowed himself to show it. Well, of course not. It wasn’t as if it was exactly _normal_ to be in love with your own sibling!

But he was. He had never been in love before but he had seen the signs on many people before. This silly grin! Being unable to look anywhere but your object of desire. Noticing all the small but cute details about them. Mycroft had a dimple in his chin! Sherlock had never realised that before. Well, probably he had, but he had never paid attention to it. But… His eyes were drawn southwards. And not for the first time, he realised. That bulge! It looked huge! Gigantic! How was his brother even able to walk with this fat thing between his legs!

To his horror, he realised that his own trousers were getting tight. _Fuck_ …

“Hey. Are you two all right?”

John. Had chosen this moment to be observant for a change, his dear friend. “Fine,” Sherlock rasped out. “We’re fine. Right, brother?”

Mycroft swallowed visibly. “Yes. Totally fine. So… Will you organise that birthday party with me, Sherlock?” He finally bent down to pick up his umbrella, and his hand was shivering.

“By all means.” He heard Lestrade and the doctor gasp but he paid them no heed. He only had eyes for his brother. And fuck – did he have a _great arse_ …

#### Mycroft

Mycroft was a man of data. And words. He was eloquent – everybody said that! He had been able to talk in full sentences when he had been eight months old! But now he was at a total loss for words – while he was gazing at his brother, who looked at him full of adoration and if he had been struck by lightning – or rather: love!

How was this possible? Mycroft wondered while his precious umbrella with all the hidden weapons slid out of his hand as if his fingers had turned to jelly. What had just happened to both of them? He had felt a sharp sting of pain in his heart and his first thought had been: _‘Sherlock with his darn brattiness has finally caused me a heart attack!’_ Because Sherlock had been his nasty self when Mycroft had suggested throwing a birthday party for their mother’s seventieth birthday. And where the hell had this insane idea even come from?! He _hated_ parties! Parties, and particularly parties involving the extended Holmes family, were on the same level as screaming infants, metal forks scratching on plates, his colleague Lady Smallwood smiling at him, the PM talking to him in his stupid, whiny tone, and having his cock caught in his flies! Why had he even come here in the middle of a work day to make such a horrible suggestion, to _Sherlock_ of all people, who was probably the only person who hated family-gatherings more than he did?! Who had set fire to or tested self-developed substances on at least half of their relatives in his youth? And who rejected everything he suggested anyway, just on principle! And of course it had led to a royal bickering, in the presence of Sherlock's friends no less, and he had felt his blood pressure rise to unknown heights so considering a heart attack had not been that far-fetched.

But it was even _worse_! He would have even _embraced_ a heart attack considering what had actually happened! The gates had been opened! For so many years – since that fateful night when he had found Sherlock in a drug den, unconscious and completely naked as one of his drug-head-buddies had stolen all his possessions, including his underwear – he had been in love with his little brother. Of course the view had worried him to the bone and he had immediately checked Sherlock's vitals and called an ambulance, and he had taken off his jacket and put it around Sherlock and kept him warm in his arms like a good older brother. But he had also noticed how unbelievably beautiful his baby brother had become since he had last seen him – a young man with the face of an angel and the body of a Greek god. And it wasn’t only his _looks_ of course. Sherlock was so bright and smart and had so much going for him. Fine, he despised Mycroft, and had done so since Mycroft had left home – and him, in Sherlock's opinion – to go to Cambridge and their so far wonderful brotherly relationship had turned sour and hostile, at least from Sherlock’s side. But that had not mattered. Mycroft had fallen for him so badly, and it had filled him with deep shame and he had locked away those unwelcome, unforgivable feelings in the depths of his heart and sent Sherlock to rehab, which had of course made Sherlock hate him even more and had done permanent damage to whatever had been left of their brotherly relationship, and it had never become better again.

And now these horrible sentiments had come out with full force! He caught himself smiling (!) at Sherlock, and he wanted to pull him into his arms and kiss him! And what would he not give for being allowed to press his lips onto his brother’s alluring cupid bow just once. And now Sherlock looked at him as if he even craved that! It was unbelievable! Shocking! Something that could never happen! He should have turned and left but he was not able to move his legs.

And then Doctor Watson – and he had completely forgotten about the presence of the two other men – asked them if they were alright, and Sherlock answered him, and Mycroft woke up from his stupor and grabbed his umbrella from the floor (thank God the gun in it had not fired at anybody after dropping down!) and his mouth asked Sherlock about the sodding birthday party again – his lips moved without him doing anything willingly and he heard the words that came out of his mouth as if they were being spoken by someone else.

And Sherlock agreed! He sounded nice! And kind! It was unheard of. The expressions on John Watson’s and DI Lestrade’s faces were pretty comical and they made funny noises of surprise but he registered that only vaguely.

He had no idea what had just happened, but his beautiful brother was looking at him as if he was a ‘10’ case or a ginger nut, and that was all that counted now.

### The Clash

“Oh, wow, Sherlock. You look amazing!”

Sherlock turned to his flatmate, blushing a bit. “You think so? It’s just an old suit…”

“But the shirt is new. That colour suits you really well.”

He had chosen it carefully. Turquoise. Like his eyes, he had been told. Would Mycroft like it? Would he like it if he took it off…? He blushed even more. Nonsense. They were meeting to discuss Mummy’s birthday party, nothing else.

_[Sitting on one of Sherlock's cupboards, a certain, five-inch-tall angel giggled a bit at that.]_

No matter how handsome and fascinating Mycroft was and how much Sherlock longed for him – Mycroft would never want to actually do anything with him, would he? Sherlock realised how giddy he felt. How his hand was shivering when it fumbled with the top button of his brand new shirt.

He was going mad, wasn’t he?

One day had passed since it had happened – whatever it had actually been – and it felt terribly exciting and wrong and wonderful and completely surreal to imagine that he could kiss Mycroft and be in his arms and undress him, peel him out of his fancy suit and waistcoat and shirt and nuzzle his face against his hairy chest and fumble his pert arse and…

“God, are you running a fever? Your face is so red.” John got up and reached out to put his hand on Sherlock's forehead but he quickly made a step back.

“I’m fine. It’s just warm.” Was John looking disappointed? Sherlock shrugged it off. He had enough to do with thinking of the upcoming evening. What would happen? Would they really sit there and discuss the guest list – aka the list of the most horrible people on earth – in a civilised way, drinking whiskey and maybe smoking a cigarette? Or would they end up in a horny, sweaty, grunting pile of male flesh? Would Mycroft want to put his gigantic appendage into Sherlock's virgin arse? How was that even supposed to work?! Would he get split in two?!

“Hey, hey, you’re hyperventilating. Sit down, Sherlock.”

“No time,” he rasped out. “My brother awaits me. Bye.”

He felt John staring at him when he hurried out of the flat. Into battle!

*****

Mycroft had been pacing through his house ever since he had returned from work and taken care of getting presentable after a long day in the office. He would meet Sherlock! His Sherlock! And he was both excited and shit-scared, if he had been inclined to use such vulgar language. Would Sherlock even show up? And what for? Going through the guest list of horrors? Or to do something so much more pleasant? The weird moment between them felt like a fever dream now though. It was almost impossible to imagine that it had really happened – this intense eye contact, the want he had seen in Sherlock's mercurial eyes, the promise of a forbidden love. It was unheard of and shocking, and Mycroft craved it more than anything in his life. He had pushed his feelings for his baby brother away for so long – but now there was no question that he would act on them should they really be returned. And he couldn’t fathom for the life of him how that had happened. It almost felt like having been taken over by a higher power.

_[Gayiel snickered silently. He was sitting on the small round table next to Mycroft's door, rubbing his hands in anticipation of the show he was soon going to see. If they didn’t let their fears and doubts take over. He had shot them with the mighty darts of love but it was still their decision if they actually acted on their feelings. So far, all of his protégés had done so but he had never been dealing with such smart men before.]_

Mycroft felt as if he had to go to the bathroom very urgently when the doorbell rang. In time! Sherlock was here and he wasn’t even late! Or perhaps it wasn’t Sherlock. Perhaps it was a delivery for a neighbour. A killer. Mummy! He could have checked the camera feed of course but instead he stumbled to the door on shaky legs – and almost fell backwards when he saw his brother, standing outside with a look of fear and anticipation, licking his lips when he took in Mycroft's sight, and Mycroft felt flattered and disturbed by this action and his knees were all wobbly. He had put on a brand new suit after showering thoroughly, even though of course nothing was going to happen between them but who wanted to spend time with a sweaty big brother? And he had combed his sadly thinning tresses into something that resembled a stylish hairdo because maybe Sherlock would want to run his hand through it and God, Mycroft wanted to caress his curls and didn’t Sherlock look delectable with his silky shirt that was matching his gorgeous eyes and had Sherlock made all this effort for him and would he be allowed to touch this beautiful creature that was his baby brother?!

And then he realised that Sherlock had been talking and he had not heard a single word.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he croaked, feeling like an imbecile. Probably Sherlock had just talked about the party, or probably that he had no intentions whatsoever in getting involved in this boring task. Or had he uttered a love confession and he had missed it?! Nonsense. Probably he only had -...

In this moment, Sherlock closed the door with his heel, causing a loud bang that startled Mycroft, and then long arms were wrapped around Mycroft's neck and this impossibly stunning mouth made contact with his and Mycroft almost dropped dead in joy and fear and amazement and his own arms closed automatically around a slim waist and then they kissed and kissed and kissed.

_[And Gayiel the invisible angel jumped up and down on the table and fist-pumped the air while high above them all a grumpy god grumbled something into his imaginary beard, reluctantly admitting that a sixteenth degree angel’s instincts seemed to be better than his own on occasion.]_

*****

It was a disaster. Sherlock ended up ripping off two buttons of Mycroft's shirt. He didn't get the metal band from his brother’s arm without breaking a nail. They stumbled over each other’s feet when they tried, kissing like mad, to get to Mycroft's bed. And in the end, Sherlock came into his pants before he had even gotten rid of his trousers, just because Mycroft had fumbled his arse, and his brother followed him over the edge when he bit into his throat in ecstasy.

It was embarrassing and silly and highly cringe-worthy – lying next to each other on the bed, they couldn’t stop giggling.

_[Neither could Gayiel, naturally. What a gloriously funny first time! It was amazing enough that they had gotten to this so quickly. And he had faith in them. They would surely figure out how to deal with each other. And just seeing Mycroft's look when he regarded his brother told him that his darts had never found better targets than these two. They were smart. They were in love. And they were absolutely made for each other. All in all, he would say that he had done a great job.]_

  
  



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